The Chaos That Is Draco
by The End of Always
Summary: Draco Malfoy was completely ordinary. Well, until you look closely. But somehow, no one ever did. Trigger warnings: child abuse, self harm


Draco Malfoy was completely ordinary. Well, until you looked closely. But for some reason, no one ever did. Maybe it was because whenever they did ask if he was okay, he smiled and lied. "I'm fine, just a bit tired," he would say, and they would leave it at that. And it was true, at least, partially true. He was always tired. He'd requested his own room in the Slytherin tower so other people wouldn't be woken up by his screams in the night. Everyone thought he was such a snob for that, but Dumbledore granted his request. What they didn't know was, well, everything. Draco didn't want them to know, but the world deserves to hear his story, and to understand.

_Why can__'__t I be a better son, a better Malfoy? _"You are a disgrace, Draco." _Why can__'__t I be enough for my father? _"You're getting fat, Draco. Malfoys are thin and elegant and perfect. We are purebloods. Act like it." _Why can__'__t I be enough for myself? _

The cane came down on Draco's arm, which was raised to protect his face. Over and over again, until Draco, bleeding, begged for mercy. He promised to be perfect, to serve the Dark Lord until his death, to make his father proud. His father helped him up and healed the wounds with his wand. "Last chance, Draco. Make me proud."

He said that every day. Every day was one last chance. If he fucked up again, that was it. Death. Or worse, disowned. Forced to live in shame for the rest of his life. He grew up with the burden of "Last chance, Draco," on his shoulders every day of his life. Some days he prayed for release to whoever was listening, but his prayers went unanswered.

When school started, things got better. And then they got worse. It was better to be away from his father, who would never dare send him a Howler for risk of tarnishing the family name or having anyone find out that the Malfoy family was less than perfect.

But he couldn't escape from his own hatred. Every night, sobbing, he'd break inside. He broke himself. Soon his self hatred was too much, and he needed a release. Every night in the shower, he dragged a blade across his skin and watched the blood drip down and be washed away. He only cut where no one would see - his legs, his hips, anywhere but his arms. The sleeves of his robe slipped up sometimes, and he couldn't risk his father's fury. Not again.

Every holiday was a nightmare. Everyone else went home to a happy family, but he went home to hell. His father would never hurt Draco's mother, so with Draco away he was forced to store up his anger until Draco came home.

One night it was so bad that Draco ended up with a broken arm and a scar on his face that even his father couldn't remove. The arm he could heal, but the scar refused to disappear. For some reason Lucius blamed Draco.

It was always a relief to go back to Hogwarts, even if he had to put up with Harry Potter saving the day all the time when Draco couldn't even manage to save himself. It only got worse when Harry defeated the basilisk and suddenly he was everybody's hero when nobody looked up to Draco. He'd attempted to make friends with Harry their first year, but Harry had refused him. Draco didn't really know how to make friends, and it cut him to the core that he'd been turned away yet again. So he did his best to make Harry's life almost as hellish as his own, though he'd never stoop to his father's level. He'd never be like his father.

It was that year that he requested his own room. He'd tried everything to stifle the screams, but his roommates still complained in the morning that he'd kept them awake.

They never asked questions; never even suspected. Malfoy was too perfect; a Malfoy, so they'd never dream of questioning him even though he desperately wished they would.

Dumbledore, of course, wanted to know why he wanted a separate room. Draco said he didn't get along with his roommates, that he was a pureblood and deserved his own room. He didn't say anything about the screams, but Dumbledore still asked if there was anything Draco wanted to tell him. And there was. There was so much Draco wanted to say. But he wasn't worth it, and Dumbledore surely knew it. Dumbledore wouldn't save him. Why would he? Draco was nothing.

He gave Draco a separate room, and Draco's screams echoed off the walls. No one ever heard - the stone muffled them more effectively than anything Draco had tried.

One afternoon Draco was called to Dumbledore's office. "Your father is here to visit you, Draco. I'll leave you two alone to catch up." Dumbledore ambles out of the room, not seeing the panicked look in Draco's eyes. Draco turned slowly to face his father.

"I hear you let that Potter boy defeat the basilisk in the Chamber. That was your heritage, as Slytherin's heir. We are the only Slytherin purebloods left. You should have stopped Potter and protected your inheritance. You failed me, Draco." Draco closed his eyes. "Crucio." Draco found himself on the ground, needles stabbing him everywhere. He writhed, unable to scream thanks to a spell his father had placed on him before the curse.

When Draco opened his eyes, his father was gone. He was alone in Dumbledore's office. He scrambled to his feet as Dumbledore opened the door. Without a word, he pushed past Dumbledore and went back to his room before anyone could see the tears glistening in his eyes.

That night he slit his wrists.

Draco blinked. Everything was so bright, and the light hurt his eyes. He was in the hospital wing…shit. Now his father would know that he'd tried to kill himself, and Lucius would kill him.

Draco suddenly noticed that Dumbledore was sitting next to his bed. "I did ask, Draco, if there was anything you wanted to tell me. I just wish you'd trusted me."

"I'm sorry, sir." Draco cringed inwardly. Yet another person who he'd failed.

"You don't need to be sorry, Draco. I just need you to tell me what's going on." Dumbledore patted Draco's hand comfortingly, but Draco still flinched.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm fine, sir. This was just a phase. Please just let me go back to my room and start classes again. I'm fine." It was a weak attempt, even Draco knew. But he had to try. No one could find out about the beatings, or he'd be dead.

"You know, there are very strict laws against child abuse…"

"I haven't been abused. No one would hurt me. We Malfoys are a perfect family. Now, I insist you let me go back to my room, or my father will hear about this." Dumbledore let him go. Everyone always let him go. Nobody bothered to look too closely.

After that, his 'friends' looked at him differently. Pansy ignored him completely, ashamed to be seen with him. Crabbe and Goyle still hung around him, but even they looked down on him.

He received the owl three nights later. He recognized his father's handwriting with dread. With trembling hands he opened the letter.

_Dear Draco, _

_ You are a disgrace to the name of Malfoy, and a severe disappointment to me. I have never been so disappointed in all my life. According to Dumbledore, you rarely attend meals, and four nights ago you slit your wrists. You are a coward. Suicide is pathetic and shows that you are a weakling. Last chance, Draco. I mean it this time._

_-Lucius _

Draco felt a sob rising in his throat. He was terrified. This really was his last chance. If he fucked up again, he was dead. And he had to go home in a week. His grades were perfect, but that Potter boy had shown him up again by defeating the basilisk. Father would be disappointed, and that meant pain.


End file.
